


Bacchanalian

by stardustandfantasies



Category: Padz and Friends (Webcomic)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, Drunkenness, Friendship, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-28
Updated: 2018-12-28
Packaged: 2019-09-29 05:20:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 927
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17197295
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stardustandfantasies/pseuds/stardustandfantasies
Summary: bacchanalian/ˌbӕkәˈnеIliәn/adj.(especially of a party) involving a lot of drinking of alcohol and uncontrolled behaviour.Galih got drunk. Gama and Nana did damage control.





	Bacchanalian

Gama's sleep was very rudely interrupted by the ringing of his phone.

He didn't woke up in time to answer the call. From his still blurry eyes, he discerned Nana's name. Weird. They'd been friends since forever, and Nana never called him at such an ungodly hour. Maybe her younger twin siblings burnt their house down to ashes. Those two little devils. Maybe he’s biased, but in his defence they seemed to think he’s a serial killer in disguise. Nana said it’s just how they treated all her guy friends, but Gama once caught them attempting to put something that looked not at all edible in his tea.

When he called back, a very tired-sounding Nana answered.

‘Galih just called me. He’s stinking drunk.’

‘Huh.’. The part of Gama’s brain that was awake wondered what was wrong. Galih being drunk was typical nearing his deadlines, particularly now with final projects looming in the horizon. He always insisted that he needed the booze to boost his mood, and that, if he weren’t drunk while doing his projects, he wouldn’t have passed any of his modules. Did he accidentally set his studio on fire or what?

‘He’s at a club and, from the sound of it, needs someone to drive him back.’

Gama sighed.

‘I'm coming.’

* * *

Nana didn’t seem deterred by the idea of going to a club at 3 AM on a weekend. If anything, Gama worried she would beat the life out of whoever dared cross her way. She might be petite and sweet, but he had seen enough display of her formidable prowess in pugilism to _fear_ for anyone who wouldn’t leave her alone.

The bouncer eyed them—Nana, specifically—with suspicion.

‘Why are you bringing a kid?’ he asked Gama.

‘I'm 20,’ Nana protested.

‘Very funny, little girl.’

Nana slammed her ID on the man’s sneering face.

‘Owww.’ He groaned, rubbing his now sore nose. ‘Fine. Go in.’

Nana marched into the building triumphantly. As he trailed behind her, Gama gave the bouncer an apologetic look.

It was not easy to find Galih in the throngs of people, with all the noise and chaos, but they finally found him at a corner, talking to an equally drunk young girl with hair a shade of pink so offensively bright, Gama was reminded of Nana's array of neon highlighters.

‘—earlier works clearly evince a thorough understanding of the human form. It takes skill and experience, however—’

'Someone is actually listening to him ranting about art,' Gama commented in genuine awe. He and Nana had had enough drunken lectures from Galih for a lifetime. From Chomsky's Propaganda Model to whether Indomie should officially be made the national food of Indonesia, their bizarre breadth made for their lack of depth and coherence.

Nana shrugged. 'Anything is possible when you're drunk enough. It's not like she's really listening, anyway.'

‘—fragmented representation, like what Picasso did with Cubism. You know his painting, the one called _Les Demoiselles d’Avignon_?’

‘Galih.’ Gama tapped his friend's shoulder. ‘Hey.’

‘You!' Galih turned to face Gama and shook his shoulder. In the meantime, his sole audience passed out with a lazy smile still on her lips. 'Youuu. You guys are late to the party.’

'I thought you’re the type of tortured artist who’d get drunk in his own studio and all that jazz,' Gama said.

‘I need a change in scenery,’ Galih groaned. ‘Being cooped up too much is detrimental to one’s artistic inspiration, you know?’

‘Sure.’ Nana rolled her eyes.

Gama wondered how a club could contribute to one’s artistic inspiration. The place was so noisy, he might go deaf soon. But then, artists were a separate species, and the bright side was that the drinks they served here were a whopping—and more trustworthy—upgrade from Galih’s usual _oplosan_ , bootleg alcoholic drinks concocted from God knows what chemicals.

To push away the image of Galih dying from an oplosan-induced alcohol poisoning, Gama asked him, ‘Do you feel more inspired now?’

‘I have never felt—’

Galih made a gagging sound.

‘Toilet,’ Nana said.

Gama nodded, braced himself for hell, and joined her in dragging Galih to the restroom. They managed to reach the nearest toilet cubicle before he puked.

The evil miasma exuded by the vomit almost choked Gama. He wondered how Nana kept an admirable sang-froid throughout the crisis. Rubbing soothing circles on Galih’s back, she gently encouraged him to get everything out of his system and into the poor toilet bowl.

At last, Galih unleashed one final round of vomit and promptly passed out.

* * *

With much effort, Gama and Nana managed to lift Galih to the car, after which they went to his boarding house and deposited him (still sleeping like a log) on his bed.

'Thanks for the ride,' Nana said when Gama dropped her off, 'and thanks your help.'

‘Galih is the one who should be thanking me. How could you be so calm?’

'I took care of the twins when they were little,' Nana said nonchalantly. 'Had both of them throwing up on me at the same time.'

‘Uh, well, at least kids don’t eat weird things.’ What did Galih last eat? Gama recalled the time he got so high on chronic sleep deprivation, he drank his paintbrush-washing water and chew on his brown paint, thinking it was Choki-Choki™.

‘You’d be surprised.’

'Well, if it's the twins, I won't.'

Nana laughed. 'See you. Have a good night's sleep.'

'Bye.'

Gama slept a good eight hours afterwards and missed out on Nana yelling at a very hungover Galih in the morning.


End file.
